


Let It Snow

by deliriumbubbles



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Emotional Constipation, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, M/M, The Venture Fam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 23:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17032323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliriumbubbles/pseuds/deliriumbubbles
Summary: The Venture Family get caught in a snowstorm during a job and take cover in an OSI safe house. While Brock is tempted to let his guard down and relax with his family, his training, and his personal boundaries, won't let him.





	Let It Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [danvssomethingorother](https://archiveofourown.org/users/danvssomethingorother/gifts).



Brock peered out the window, knife at his side, glaring at the snow as though he could intimidate it into jumping back up into the heavens to clear their way. Nothin’ doing. The lawn was thick blanket of treacherous white. Anything or anyone could be hiding out there.

 

“Every time, I swear,” Rusty grumbled as he came out of the bedroom. “One needs to use the bathroom, then the other needs _water_ , and then of course _that one_ needs the bathroom, and the other wants a _story_ , or saw something in the _window_ , or the _closet_. They gang up you, is what they do!”

 

“They’re eight,” Brock said.

 

Rusty sank into the beat up sofa in the middle of the safe house. “And it’s easier _now_ than when they were babies.  Or, oh God, when they were _toddlers_! There was no containing them. Even with Helper on alert 24/7. Sometimes, even with Myra.”

 

Brock made a growl deep in his throat. He’d only met the bitch once. It might’ve been the first real challenge on his plate as a bodyguard. Partially because he’d underestimated her, partially because she rivaled Underbheit in total fucking nutjob obsession. Only where Werner was just obsessed with the Doc, Myra was obsessed with the boys… _and_ the Doc.

 

Brock had found Rusty hogtied and naked over a lab table. God knew what that heinous bitch had been planning, but she’d chosen instead to run off with boys, and Brock had to bolt out of there the minute he’d cut the Doc loose on the slim _hope_ of catching up with her.

 

“We shouldn’t’ve brought ‘em,” Brock muttered.

 

“And we should, what? Leave them with Helper? Hire a babysitter?” Rusty grabbed a blanket that was draped over the back of the sofa and wrapped it around him. “They _always_ turn out to be a henchman. _Trust me_ , Brock, that’s the _last_ thing you want to have on your conscience, trying to go off to do a mission and you put them in the hands of some sociopath.”

 

Brock stepped away from the window and looked at Rusty, curling the blanket around himself and looking utterly exhausted. There was little chance they might get out by morning, but it was lucky that this OSI safe house had been empty at all. There were food stores in the kitchen, and a nice bed for the boys to share. They could pick up the job when it was safe to get back in the jet.

 

Kicking off his shoes, Brock walked over to the sofa and sat beside Rusty. He could feel his back muscles tensing in spite of himself. Everything was unfairly complicated. _Myra_ made everything complicated. From the threats against the Doc and the boys, to the history of Rusty’s bodyguard getting too attached and too damn sloppy to take care of him and his children.

 

That… that couldn’t happen.

 

“Don’t hog the blanket,” Brock said.

 

Rusty opened one side, shuddered, and tossed the corner around Brock’s shoulders. “Is OSI too cheap for central heating?”

 

“I don’t think this safe house has been used since the 70s.” He looked behind them, wondering if there was a hidden closet somewhere. “There might be a kerosene heater around here somewhere.”

 

Rusty pulled his feet up onto the sofa, folding himself into Brock’s side. Brock pulled him close. It was a protective thing, keeping the Doc by his side like this. He could see the door just fine. He could keep his body between the Doc and anyone out there. And he for sure would see anyone before they could get to the boys in the back room.

 

“You’re like a human radiator,” Rusty muttered.

 

And he could keep him warm.

 

“Thanks,” Brock said.

 

“That wasn’t a complement. It was a scientific observation. Is this how you nailed so many girls in college?”

 

“Yeah. Girls, like that… They need to lie on something warm to jumpstart their metabolism.”

 

 Rusty chuckled. Brock smiled, a little proud of himself. He was good at that, the banter thing… but he hadn’t always been so good at it around the Doc. They’d talked so infrequently as roommates in college that Rusty hadn’t recognized him around campus. When Brock had come to the compound, it had been pretty tense at first. He wished he could say that had something to do with being pissed that he’d been stuck on this rookie assignment, or because Rusty had at first been rightfully wary of the man who had put him in the hospital back in college, but it was really… just how Brock was.

 

He’d had very few friends in his life, very few people he’d really been able to talk to and joke with. He’d considered OSI to be one of those places where he’d really felt comfortable, but that was over. He didn’t know if he’d ever be back in the field with his colleagues.

 

In those first, torturously slow months, though, Rusty rebounded from his initial hesitance almost too quickly. His seemingly indefatigable humor had gradually made the compound a space where, if Brock could manage it, he could say what was on his mind. He could joke, and get even a laugh. To what degree he truly belonged, or Rusty would allow him, remained to be seen, but it wasn’t as though Rusty every pushed him away.

 

Almost unconsciously, Brock’s hand touched the back of Rusty’s hair. The soft remains that had tenaciously held on in spite of the intense stress of the past few years curled a little at the nape of his neck.  Brock’s thumb began stroking Rusty’s neck gently, and Rusty sleepily let his head rest on Brock’s shoulder.

 

Remaining so still, Brock could feel his heart pounding a little faster than was necessary. Rusty’s breathing deepened slightly, and Brock kept his eyes on him. When he didn’t move for several minutes, Brock started to lean back in a smooth, fluid motion. He settled on the sofa, still with his eyes on the door, and Rusty pressed against Brock’s chest. Laying a hand on Rusty’s back, he could feel each breath rise and fall.

 

A light snore came from Rusty, and Brock had to bite back a laugh. He didn’t remember the man snoring. Granted, he’d been a little busy in college. He’d had so much rage in him (still did, if he was honest), but Brock hadn’t ever been one to focus and reflect on what was going on around him. Now, though, he saw that spirit the Doc had maintained for years crumbling in quick, alarming chunks.

 

Brock didn’t know how to stop it any more than he knew how to run that lab that kept the back-up bodies of their precious boys. He didn’t have a clear enough memory of the Doc from college to say what parts of him had survived losing his father, then his children, then his wife, and then his children again.

 

He rubbed Rusty’s back, starting to feel a bit drowsy himself. But he wouldn’t sleep. He could keep his brain alert enough to spring to action the second trouble came.

 

Rusty’s arm moved, and Brock tensed all over as his moved his arm around Brock’s chest. It seemed like Brock’s heart ought to pop right through his chest and knock Rusty right in the face. But it didn’t. Rusty just lay there, fully and deeply asleep.

 

When the footsteps finally came, they were more welcome than not. Tiny feet in thick socks, followed by a big yawn and a head of floppy blond hair. Brock held his finger to his lips, and Hank looked at his dad, then curled up forcibly next to Brock. It wasn’t comfortable—Brock could barely fit on the sofa himself—but Hank had no interest in being deterred.

 

“Fine, fine. Just keep quiet.”

 

It wasn’t long before he had two Ventures curled up on him. No surprise then when a pile of blankets walked out of the bedroom. A bit of red fluff stuck up from the top of the pile.

 

“Why are you awake?” Brock whispered. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

 

“’Cause Hank wasn’t there,” Dean said.

 

“C’mere.”

 

Dean drew close to them and sunk into his blankets right next to the sofa. Brock reached down with one hand and rested it on Dean’s head. The hair was so fine. Both of theirs was, the boys. It made it harder, having them along on trips, but Brock couldn’t hate them being where he could see them.

 

“S’cold,” Dean muttered.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Brock said.

 

He looked down at Rusty, who hadn’t moved at all. Hesitantly, Brock pushed himself up a little, winning himself a snore from Rusty and a whine from Hank. Extracting himself from sleeping Ventures was a tough proposition, but if an OSI officer couldn’t manage it, he didn’t deserve his rank. Once freed, Brock went to dig through the remaining closets until he found the gas heater. It was dusty, and it took even longer to find the damn kerosene, but eventually, he set the heater in the middle of the room and got it going.

 

It was then that he glanced back to see that Dean had crawled up onto the sofa with his father and brother. Like little kittens, the boys had wriggled their way under Rusty’s arm, and he held them fairly tightly. A frown had dug its way into his brow.

 

Brock sat on the floor where Dean had been. It was warmer without the blanket now. In a moment of weakness, he looked back at the Doc and considered slipping back onto the sofa with them. He was where he belonged. Apart from the family, putting himself between them and danger. They were the family, and he was their guard. That was all. There couldn’t be anything else.


End file.
